


Broken Hearted Blues

by daroos



Series: Meet you at the Stork Room [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dancing!Phil, F/M, Getting Together, Swing Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 10:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daroos/pseuds/daroos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy knows she'll have to rebuild relationships with Clint and Steve, but it might take some time. With some emotions still to work out, and some boundaries to make clear, Steve's got some big hurdles to cross of he's going to put his best foot forward and ask her out. Featuring overprotective Phil, surprisingly good life coaching from Clint, and Steve still being clueless with women.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Hearted Blues

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic contains a discussion of STALKING though no graphic depictions of anything take place. Please message if you have concerns and would like a more in depth rundown.
> 
> This fic follows directly after the events of "Frim Fram Friendship" and if you have not read that, I suggest you read the other stories in this series beforehand.
> 
> The dance camp that Phil goes off to is based on a real life one in the Carolinas.

Darcy had worked through a lot of her emotional response by the next Tuesday, and was dressed and ready for class. She swung by Phil’s and picked him up and together they took the metro into Lower Manhattan. They were predictably early -- Phil’s preference -- and Darcy fiddled with the speaker setup to get things prepped for class.

“Phiiiiil,” Fran squealed when she arrived, her arms open in greeting. Phil opened his own with a tolerant smile and hugged his partner close. Fran danced him around few steps. “I got an email. They said you hadn’t sent in your application yet.”

Phil actually paled. “I’m— oh.”

“They said get it in by tomorrow or I’m out too -- don’t do this to me Philip.”

Phil exchanged a desperate look with Darcy. “I’m so sorry,” he said holding Fran at arm’s length. “It slipped through my mind. We’ve had some— I shouldn’t have forgotten about it.”

“That’s fine. Eugene brought his camera so we can do the video bit, and I have the recording from your performance last week that you can use for the choreographed part. You just have to write the actual application part.”

“What is this for?” Darcy asked Phil through the side of her mouth.

“Dance camp application,” Phil stage-whispered to Darcy. He was like that with her, away from the others; willing to engage in silly antics and little in-jokes in a way that he wouldn’t allow himself during work hours.

“Which someone forgot about,” Fran stage-whispered to the two of them. Phil looked embarrassed but smiled through it. “Like I said, though, we got you covered.”

Darcy and Eugene made faces at Phil from behind the camera as he danced to a few songs before class could officially begin: part warmup, part performance. Phil was tense at the beginning but Darcy could see him slip into the calm flow that was dancing-Phil midway through the first song and everything after that was gravy. Fran had a huge toothy grin and looked up at Phil with a glowing sort of adoration which was matched in his own attentive gaze.

Class began shortly after with the arrival of first one instructor and then the second. Darcy tried to put the still-knotted feeling out of her gut, but it was surprisingly difficult, and she was all wound up instead of being loosened by the end of the lesson.

“Loosen up, Darcy. What’s got you going?” the female instructor asked while she kneaded into the knots of tensions building in Darcy’s shoulders.

Darcy wiggled trying to let go of some of the anxiety coiling through her muscles but still had difficulty. “It’s nothing.”

The instructor raised her eyebrow at Darcy in a look of disbelief and incredulity. “It’s not nothing. Is it something I need to know about?”

Darcy shook her head. “It’s just something I have to work through.” Phil glanced across the class, raising his eyebrows at their tableau. Darcy gave him the most minute of head shakes which Phil and the instructor of course picked up on.

Darcy and Phil walked home, steps ringing in perfect rhythm on the dry sidewalks. Phil didn’t push her, for which she was grateful. He walked her to the door of her apartment, heels clicking together in a charmingly antiquated movement with an aborted sort of bow. He seemed to want to say something, so she stopped, hand on her door, partially in her apartment. “If I can do anything -- anything at all -- please don’t hesitate to ask.”

She melted a little bit and reached up, cupping his cheek and bringing his head to her level so she could kiss his forehead. “Thanks. Same goes for you, Suit.”

She dropped her sweaty clothes in the wash basket and showered, puttered around her kitchen for a few minutes making some camomile tea, and still felt wound up. She threw herself on the bed and dragged her laptop over, typing with it resting against her knees. 

_To: Cap@SHIELD.mil_  
From: Lewis@SHIELD.mil  
 **Have some feminism, bro**

Darcy stared at her email, debating whether she would actually send it. Steve had done an absolutely spectacular job of completely avoiding her for the past week, and the frustration both at him and herself bubbled and boiled giving her indigestion. The terrible, gut-churning thing for her was that she knew — _knew_ — that Steve wasn’t a bad guy. He was just dumb as a sack of bricks about some things and still not completely caught up on the etiquette of the times.

She wanted to be over it. She wanted to not feel like something sour and acid was boiling in her middle every time she thought about him, but with their combined, excellent, avoidance skills, she was never going to have the opportunity to work through her emotions. Some of which were vindictive and angry. Which was why she had a lot of her favorite articles on radical feminism pulled up and stuffed into an email addressed to Steve.

She chewed her lip. Was she going to be _that person_ she asked herself. Yes. Yes of course she was going to be that person because that person was _awesome_ and was so totally the person she wanted to be when she grew up. She hit send.  
\--  
“Tash said that maybe I should give you a chance to prove you’re not a weirdo creeper,” Darcy said, thumbs tucked into her sweater sleeves, curled in on herself just a bit.

“She lets you call her Tash?” Clint’s shiner was still the ugly green-purple healing colors, and between that and the rest of a collection of bruises he looked terrifying.

“Chicks before dicks, bro,” Darcy replied. Her expression clearly communicating, ‘duh’.

“Huh. But yeah. What did you have in mind?”

“She said you were good practice for beating up muggers and rapists.”

“Uh...”

They both looked uncomfortable.

“And that maybe you could show me some self defense stuff.”

“We could do that,” Clint nodded.

Darcy’s grin was lopsided and hesitant but it was there. Clint returned it tenfold, feeling something other than a sickening dropping pit in his stomach when he thought about his relationship with Darcy.

“It’s all on your terms, girlie,” he added. “I am at your disposal.”

Darcy smirked. “Oh really?”

“Totally. Whatever I gotta do I’m doing it.”

Darcy’s smirk was even better than her hesitant grin.  
\--  
Clint was surprised to find that Darcy was actually pretty good at self defense and physical combat in general once they got over a few hurdles. When incited she was vicious, forceful, and had an excellent command of her physical presence.

“It’s all the dancing,” she admitted after one session. Clint was relatively certain their friendship was mending. She no longer made sure to sit nearer the door than him, and whenever he put her in a hold to practice escapes she no longer tensed like a scared animal. Which wasn’t to say that she didn’t escape. He had gone easy on her to begin with, but after she got the hang of dropping her weight, leveraging her hips and thighs, and using his center of gravity against him, he did his best to simulate real-world situations.

“You gotta fend off a lot of guys?” Clint asked.

“No.” She rolled her eyes. “No. It’s the body-awareness. Watching someone and figuring out how to do what they’re doing and then doing that. I never learned like that before dancing. I’d probably be completely worthless at this if you’d have gotten me a few years ago. I was kind of a wreck.”

“Hey. Don’t bag on Darcy Lewis from a few years ago. I went out drinking with that chick and she was pretty cool.”

They’d given up on the pretext of practice and oozed down the wall of the gym into sweaty puddles. “I was a mess,” Darcy reiterated. “I mean...” she shook her head and made a disgusted sound.

“Hey, it couldn’t be that bad.” Darcy raised an eyebrow at Clint. “Okay it could be that bad but it can’t be anything worse than my sob story. No messed up shit is new to me.”

Their knees knocked together in the silence, and it was comfortable. It felt... comfortable.

“I took the out of state quarter being Jane’s monkey because I needed— wanted to get out of town.”

Clint’s head stayed down, but his eyes flicked up, focused on Darcy. “I’d been dating this guy and things didn’t work out... only I thought he was just kinda kooky in a good way -- like, fun and spontaneous kooky.”

“Not just fun and spontaneous?” Clint asked.

“Yeah. He got access to my dorm building. It was...” her expression shuttered.

“He didn’t—”

“No, no -- nothing like that. He just scared the bejesus out of me. Made me realize I wasn’t ever really 100% safe.”

Clint couldn’t think of anything to say to that which wouldn’t be both trite and insulting so he bumped their knees together in a gesture of solidarity.

“I’m just so angry still! And I can’t even say why. Well, I can say why, but I’m mad at me and I’m mad at him but I’m not really mad at you anymore and it doesn’t make any sense.”

“Wait, are we talking about college stalker guy or Rogers?”

“Steve,” Darcy practically wailed, head dropping against her knees. Clint glanced around hoping for some sign as to what he should do. He finally decided on scooting closer and rubbing down her back.

“Girlie, emotions don’t have to make sense. You just have them sometimes.”

“But this is just— I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

“Have you talked to him?” If his hand hadn’t been on her back he wouldn’t have felt the frisson of tension that worked its way up and down her spine. “You haven’t talked to him at all?”

“I did the day after,” Darcy mumbled into her knees.

“But that was like,” Clint thought for a minute, “more than a month ago. Like, a lot more than a month. Two months? How have you managed that? You live in the same building. He like, visits Jane’s lab all the time.”

“Not anymore,” Darcy told her knees, miserably. “Thor is back so he doesn’t have to come by and I think he’s kinda... afraid of me?”

Darcy looked up. Clint was judging her. He was definitely giving her a judgey look. “We emailed!” she protested. “We’ve been emailing him. I just haven’t... really...” Clint raised his eyebrows in a sassy but incredulous expression. “Okay this is maybe at least half my fault at this point,” Darcy admitted.

“You know what the good thing about it being partly your fault, though?” Clint asked. Darcy raised her head and shook it ‘no’. “You can do something to fix it.”  
\--  
Darcy was distracted all day in the lab to the point that _Jane_ noticed. At which point Darcy decided maybe more drastic actions were in order if she was ever going to get over this whole Steve thing. She wrote a long email which rambled from topic to topic without much of a unifying thread. It was stream of consciousness, and it was boldly honest, and it was more than a bit ranty. It had more feminism links, and references to books she remembered reading, and things that had happened to her, and people who had been big in the feminist movements of the last fifty years. She poured all her tightly wound feelings and her anger over not being listened to and the swirls of helpless fear that she could never remember _not_ popping up occasionally. Every feeling and thought that the encounter between her and Steve and Clint had stirred up, she put in that email, and before she could think better of it she hit ‘send’.

She didn’t feel better, but she felt less like her middle was full of snakes and spiders.  
\--  
Clint could see her tension, still evident, the next morning.

“You got anything you’re doing right now?” he asked casually.

“I have to be on the roof by 11 for a shuttle. But no.”

“Come on -- get some workout clothes on. I know what’ll help.”

“Is it beating you up? Because we already tried that.”

Natasha snorted a laugh into her cereal milk.

“Do you trust me?” Clint asked. The words fell heavier than either of them would have liked.

Darcy ducked her head. “Yeah.”

“Five minutes,” Clint replied and began to guzzle down his coffee.

They reconvened and rode the elevator down, and down, and down to below the parking levels and below the gym into a surprisingly high-ceilinged unfinished looking expanse of space. “Does Stark keep a secret circus in the basement?” Darcy asked as she padded around the place. Chalk tubs were set up next to parallel bars and pommel horses. Balance beams took up one side of a routines area, and the central floor had the bounce of a gymnastics gym. High above them trapeze equipment was stowed away, along with a poorly-stuffed sack of what was probably silks. Trampolines dominated one corner along with a huge foam cube pit.

“He does not. I’m fairly certain they take the daycare kids down here to tire them out.” 

Darcy glanced around the space and picked out more circus gear including an overflowing costume box, stashed around the gym. “Stark built this for you, didn’t he?”

Clint scrubbed the back of his head. “Uh, yeah.”

“So do something circusy.” She waved her hand towards a stack of hula-hoops.

“Warm up first, then both of us are doing something circusy.”

“I assure you, I am unqualified for that.”

Clint shrugged and grinned. “Everyone was when they started.”

Darcy warmed up reluctantly.

Clint finally coaxed a reluctant Darcy onto the trampoline and they bounced. Darcy was reserved at first -- “Aren’t these like, the single biggest cause of kids losing their front teeth” -- but in a surprisingly short time she was whooping and breathless, happily launching herself into the almost endlessly deep foam cube pit. The eternal hang-time after launching from the trampoline surface and before the _whump_ and the smell of degrading yellow foam enveloped her senses were a lifeline of calm and glee. Clint bounced and flipped for her amusement and practiced controlled falls on surfaces which didn’t actually hurt on impact.

“You know,” Darcy said as she leaned back on her elbows and let the reverberations of the trampoline springs vibrate through her body, “You could be in the circus or something.”

Clint stared at her incredulously for a long few seconds until they both burst out laughing.  
\--  
“Have you checked your email lately?” Phil asked with a twinkle that definitely was not working-hours Phil.

“Noo...” Darcy drawled. Her hand wandered blindly towards her smartphone.

Phil gave her a pleased little smirk and rolled from heel to toes in obvious excitement.

Darcy gave him an amused frown and scrolled through her inbox.

_Fwd: Congrats! (week 4 acceptance)_

The remainder of the email was information about paying for dance camp and travel arrangements and what to expect.

She squawked in delight and dropped her phone in jumping to give him a hug. Her arrhythmic hopping was somehow guided into being a basic step. A slight tremor was perceptible in Phil only because she was pressed sternum to navel against him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just didn’t expect to get in and now the whole thing is a bit daunting.”

“Scarier than facing down Loki with an untested death ray?” she asked, punching him in the arm playfully and surprising a bark of laughter out of him.

“I didn’t have much time to work up anxiety over that.”

“Aaw, you’re gonna do great. You talked to Fran yet?” Phil’s private phone rang with a Duke Ellington trumpet solo. Darcy grinned.

“There she is.” Phil took the call. The screech of excitement on the other line was audible even to Darcy.

The reasons that Phil had thought he and Fran had not gotten accepted were twofold; he had, in spite of all good efforts, turned in his application late (which he had not and would never admit to Fran), and they were some of the last people being notified of acceptance. Another couple had dropped out, leaving an empty pair of spots which Phil and Fran were suited to fill. Phil made plans to be gone, plans for travel, and practiced in order to get into better physical condition. He and Darcy practiced most nights in Phil’s apartment, and Phil and Fran practiced on the town a couple times a week when other matters didn’t interfere.

“You never bring her by here,” Darcy commented.

“She lives in Brooklyn.”

“A long subway ride is not the only reason; she’s in midtown all the time.”

Phil tipped his head to one side then the other. “I like having people who just know me as Phil. She’s smart. If I brought her here she’d figure something out, and then I’d have to lie to her, or put her in danger...” Phil shrugged.

“Well given that she’s that smart, how do you know she doesn’t know something already and is just brainy enough to keep it to herself?”

“That’s a risk I’ll have to run,” Phil admitted.

The day Phil left, Darcy felt surprisingly sad to be down one constant work-and-dance-buddy. She hadn’t realized how used she become to having a partner to come home to at the end of the day, and someone who wasn’t too aloof to be a little dorky sometimes in the midst of the too-cool-for-school black-suits crowd. She made a nuisance of herself with Jane and Selvig until Clint came and got her to go do some exercise.

“You know, this is the only time I’ve seen Coulson out of the office before 8 PM on a regular basis,” Clint told Darcy while trying to distract her into no longer being afraid of heights. She had climbed up the climbing rope but had frozen at the top, unable to climb down.

“Yeah?” she asked shakily.

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s magic.”

She let out a weak laugh, and eventually managed to slither down the knotted rope to nurse her bruised inner thighs and her rope-burned arms.

Clint helped her to sit down on the ground and didn’t say anything while she shook like a leaf.   
\--  
Darcy wasn’t sure if it was boldness on her part or the fact that the Tower really was filling up that instigated the eventual resumption of face-to-face interaction between herself and Steve. They started seeing each other places, and neither of them ran. They sometimes exchanged only nods and passing greetings, and Steve would sometimes stop and ask her about an article she had sent. Her initial barrage of radical feminism had gotten diluted by pictures of adorable animals, articles about the weird shit that happened in Florida, and all-you-can-eat food offers to be found on the island of Manhattan.

Steve sometimes saw Darcy coming out of Phil’s after practice, and though he did his best to be nonchalant about it, the sight brought up memories of his own poor decisions. It was with that in mind that he matched step with Darcy to talk with her.

“I had been thinking.”

“Yeah?” She asked, distracted with her phone.

“Before when I said I’d like to learn to dance I really did mean it.”

“Okay,” she replied with a frown.

“And I was thinking about trying a class, but I didn’t want to... I wanted to talk with you first and make sure that it wouldn’t be uncomfortable.”

“Okay.

“We could talk about times or locations if you wanted to be sure we didn’t overlap,” Steve offered.

“What? No. You should go to the place Phil learned. Best floor in town and the top instructors.” She said it so matter of factly that Steve was taken aback.

“It wouldn’t bother you?”

“What you do, Rogers, isn’t much of my concern. Provided you’re not doing ballroom jive -- that would be kind of offensive.”

“Oh. Okay then. I really appreciate it.”  
\--  
Phil stormed in to Steve’s apartment without so much as knocking, face a mask of determination and deadly promise having only just returned from dance camp. Phil only came up to Steve’s collarbones, but he moved in close and caused Steve to back up a few steps until he bumped into his own wall. “You started going to dance classes,” Phil said sounding almost conversational in contrast to his expression.

Steve nodded. “Yes sir,” he added when it was clear the mute act was insufficient. He’d only been to the one so far.

“This is not her— our work. This is not professional. This is not anything you have a right to be involved with.”

Steve’s eyes got wide. “I didn’t mean to— I talked with Darcy. She said it would be fine with her.”

The corners of Phil’s eyes narrowed and pinched. “I understand that. However, I am going to make something very clear to you. If you make her uncomfortable -- if you so much as cause her to think twice about going out, I will break both your legs so you will _never_ walk straight again, and defense of Earth be damned."

Steve paled. “I would never want that to— I don’t— I won’t.”

Phil nodded sharply. “Just so we’re clear.”

“Yes sir. Of course. I only just earned back some trust; I’m not about to throw that away.”

Phil’s look didn’t soften, but it changed to something less sharp. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Rogers.”  
\--  
Phil felt a little guilty after giving the shovel talk to Steve seeing as neither of them got to do much dancing over the course of the next several weeks due to the reappearance of one James Buchanan Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier, also known as oh dear god how are Avengers’ interpersonal relationships so complicated. Steve spent enough time working overtime with Natasha and SHIELD profilers looking haunted and as though he might burst into all-American tears -- Phil hoped he hadn’t added to that angst with his overprotective outburst.

Phil got a few calls from Fran during his enforced break, the second or third of which he returned. She was just worried about him, but he couldn’t handle the distraction of a personal life while tracking one of the world’s greatest assassins across the globe in an attempt to _bring him in_ against the express directive of his director. Fury wanted Winter Soldier taken off the board first and foremost -- any dreams of recruiting the super-assassin were even less tenable than those that had led to the recruitment of the Black Widow.

The entire staff involved in the Avengers Initiative was called in to help with the manhunt, and more than a few nights Phil found Darcy asleep on the couch in his office when he went to try just that maneuver. At those points he would shake her awake and force them both to go home, take a shower, and sleep in something without arms.

When the dust finally settled leaving them up one assassin of questionable mental stability and borderline personality disorder and down one Avengers, as Steve insisted on serving as nursemaid and would not leave his friend’s side, it seemed like it might have been worth it. They were all given a week of recovery time. After sleeping with only short breaks for food and the toilet for close to forty-eight hours, Phil felt the itch in his feet begin to return. Shuffling alone in his apartment to Artie Shaw did little to assuage the need for something that had taken over such a large portion of his life, before Bucky Barnes fell into the middle of things.

“Is Miss Lewis awake?” Phil asked JARVIS.

“Indeed, Sir. Would you like me to summon her?”

“No. Is she in her apartment?”

“No sir -- the practice rooms.” Phil allowed himself a tiny smirk. His tiny smirk was erased when he found who she was in the practice rooms _with_. “Sergeant,” Phil greeted with a wary courtesy.

“Agent,” Barnes returned, equally wary.

“Phil!” Darcy added with more enthusiasm.

“I wasn’t expecting to find you outside the Captain’s sight.” Phil’s eyes flicked over the scene. Darcy was in workout gear and tap shoes. She was sweaty, but in the tacky half-dried way that told him she’d been inactive for more than a few minutes. Barnes had his hands tucked into slacks that didn’t quite fit him, and was wearing an AC/DC shirt that was probably Clint’s judging by its sleeveless’ tattered nature. The silver of his metal arm glinted in the studio lights.

“Steve lets JARVIS keep an eye on me around the Tower.” Barnes shrugged. “I was lookin’ for some place that I’d be outta the way, and then I just followed the music.”

Darcy sometimes left the practice studio doors open to allow the music to drift down the gym’s halls. “I was just telling him that I bet some of the preservationists would love to talk to him -- a lot of the people they talk to now are more than a bit senile.”

“Yeah -- they only gotta deal with my partial memory loss and Soviet conditioning,” James joked darkly.

“Aaw,” Darcy punched him in his bionic arm lightly, “your brains are fine for everything before the War.”

“I’m not sure the Director would clear him to speak so frankly with civilians.”

Darcy shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. I mean, I’m surprised you guys haven’t farmed Steve-o out to some of them. He’d probably _love_ to talk about all the old stuff he knows.”

Barnes frowned along with Phil. “I believe that topic was deemed too sensitive to propose to the Captain. Given his extreme circumstances it seemed that limiting any further trauma was the best course.”

“Maybe you shoulda let him decide for himself,” Barnes suggested, his stance changed just enough to be belligerent.

“I could float the idea to some of my Humanities bros. Like, hypothetically, and just see if they’re interested. Then we could let him decide from there. And you.”

Phil shook his head, more in disbelief than denial. “I’ll suggest it at the next opportunity.” Phil left the practice studio without getting a dance, but with something to mull over during the following few days.

After that he often saw Darcy and Barnes together watching television on the projector in the main floor, cooking or eating together, or in the practice rooms. At first he worried that Barnes might revert to his programming, but as weeks passed and the two seemed to become close friends, Phil began to appreciate that there was someone in the Tower who she would happily spend time with, outside himself, Jane, and Clint.  
\--  
“Steve, what’s got you all twisted up?” Bucky asked offhanded. Steve favored his breakfast with a sour look. Clint glanced between Bucky and Steve and turned his gaze studiously to his own meal. Nevertheless, Bucky had noted the movement. “What? What am I not getting here?”

“I’m uh... training. I have to go sharpen my...” Clint abandoned his breakfast and attempted a strategic retreat only to be stopped by Bucky’s hand on his arm.

“What’s got you spooked? What is going on in this place?”

Clint exchanged another guilty look with the back of Steve’s head. “You know Lewis.”

“Yeah I know Lewis. Darce is probably the only reason I understand half of what comes out of Stark.”

“Right,” Clint agreed, looking meaningfully at Steve.

Bucky’s face clouded momentarily only to clear with understanding. “Ooh. He’s—”

“You know I can hear you two perfectly well?” Steve asked, sounding both frustrated and embarrassed.

“Steve—” Clint took the opportunity to flee the discussion. “Look, buddy, there’s nothing going on between us.”

“I see how you two are—”

“Is this a jealous of me with _her_ or jealous of me getting to be friends with someone that’s not you?”

“Bucky!” Steve exploded, stopping himself. “No, I’d never want you to think... I’m glad you’re making friends. Lord knows it was hard enough for me to start getting to know people -- I would never wish that on someone else.” Steve trailed off hopelessly.

“Believe me, Steve, I have seen Darcy. I can fully understand why a fella might carry a torch for her. And the brains on her?” Bucky made an exploding gesture by his temple with an appropriate facial expression to convey the fireworks that came out of her mind. “She and I aren’t like that, though. She’s been...” Bucky trailed off and fidgeted with his hands -- metal against flesh. “She never seemed scared of me, is all, and she’s been this big help getting caught up with the world. But we’re not like that. If you want to go for it don’t let me stop you.”

Steve stirred his cereal around in the milk turning it into a mullish, starchy paste. “There’s more to it than that. I screwed things up between us.” Bucky quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t... At the time I didn’t think and I did some stuff I shouldn’t have. It’s been hard to earn back her trust. I’m not sure she’d appreciate me coming to her like that.”

“Look -- I’ve never claimed to know what was going on in some dame’s mind.”

“That is a darned lie,” Steve said.

Bucky smirked in acknowledgement but continued, “But Darcy seems to have a bit of a shine on you. If you stepped careful, I bet she’d say yes to going out.”

“Step careful how?”

“Like, let her choose the place and what you do, bring her a flower, that kinda thing.”

Steve looked doubtful. “A flower, really?”

“Dames love flowers.”  
\--  
“What’s that?” Darcy asked.

“Uh...” Steve responded, momentarily struck silent. He held out the big, bright sunflower to Darcy. “It’s for you.” Steve had looked at all of the floral options from the smallest sprays of baby’s breath to the gaudiest lilies to the most demure and exotic orchids. He’d recalled the small blue flowers Darcy wore in her hair, and the colors of her favorite dress, and finally given up on it all to choose the sunniest, most guilelessly charming flower he saw. He offered it to her.

Her expression went through a rapid transition from surprised to confused to reserved, with the slightest quirk of a smile tugging at her lips. “Well thanks. Can’t says I remember the last time someone gave me a flower. What’s the occasion?”

“I know that this suggests a transactionary nature to our relationship,” that got him a full on toothy grin, “But I was wondering if you would like to go on a date. Whatever you’d be comfortable with.”

“We-ell, you’ve obviously been doing the class reading.”

“I do value your presence on the team. If you say no,” he swallowed down a bit of a lump in his throat, “please don’t think that would change your standing on the team or within SHIELD in any way.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Whatever you’d be comfortable with,” Steve reiterated, a giddy fizz of hope running through his blood.

Darcy mulled that over, her face going through expressions of thoughtfulness. “There’s a new live music club opening up -- the Rhythm Club in midtown. I got meetings all day tomorrow but how about we meet there. Eight o’clock, sharp?”

Steve felt the suggestion like a gut punch, but he nodded. “8pm sharp. The Rhythm Club.”

Her eyes held his. “Don’t you dare be late, Rogers.”

He shook his head mutely.

**Author's Note:**

> If you have questions or comments, or have found problems within the fic, please do let me know. I hope you enjoyed and thanks for reading.


End file.
